


Where There's a Will, There's a Way.

by RailMeBarrow



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Depression, Drabble, Edwardian Period, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Loneliness, Past Child Abuse, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Sad, Season/Series 06, Self-Hatred, Sick Character, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:35:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28844679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RailMeBarrow/pseuds/RailMeBarrow
Summary: Thomas writes a will, having decided to kill himself.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 64





	1. Chapter 1

Thomas sat down on his uncomfortable cot with a sigh. He was exhausted. Carson took every moment to remind him how unwanted he was, how worthless. It was getting harder and harder to get out of bed each morning and face everyone, knowing that none of them cared for him. 

He put his elbows on his knees, resting his face in his cool hands. He had always been fairly unpopular, but he had thought that he'd levelled out somewhat recently, after the whole conversion therapy debacle. But the look of excitement on everyone's faces when he mentioned his job searching and the disappointment when he was not successful proved that he was wrong.

Even Baxter, who he had considered an ally, despite all the things he had done to her, was constantly telling him that he'd find a job eventually. That they'd be rid of him eventually. That he'd be out of their hair eventually. 

Well she was right.

Thomas had grown resigned to the fact that ending his life was the only option left. What else could he do, when his chosen family, the people he loved and cared about the most, rejected him. 

He had tried for so long to get another job. He went to interview after interview, each one decided “someone more qualified to the job” had got it. Some didn't even bother with niceties such as that, simply stating “he wasn't the right man.” he knew fully well that he was the right man, he was headstrong, determined and did his job well. But somehow they all knew. 

He wished every day that the therapy had worked. If it had, he would have been able to get a new job within the week. Maybe he would have been able to keep his job here. He knew that this was Carson's plan to get rid of the sinner in their midst. He'd probably been planning this for a while, his distrust and hatred of Thomas was so obvious, he didn't even try to hide it anymore. 

Thomas stood slowly, feeling as though there was a weight in his chest. He'd had the feeling for weeks. Initially he thought it was his lungs, tired from the near constant smoking he’d taken up since he first felt himself in melancholy's grasp, but he eventually realised it hurt more, felt heavier the more hopeless he got.

No one had really noticed. Carson commented on how “disenchanted” he seemed with life, but he knew that didn't come from a place of caring. Baxter sometimes asked him if he was okay, spotting him staring hopelessly into the distance from time to time, but she always seemed satisfied with a short and shallow answer. 

So it was decided. This was to be his ending. He had hoped for something more heroic or just plain nicer but this was what fate had decided for him. Ever since he saw Edward, bleeding out in his small hospital bed, the idea had been implanted in his mind, the idea that this could all be gone with a few small gashes. 

He moved to sit down at his desk and opened his writing drawer. He got out his fountain pen, a piece of paper and a small envelope. On the front of the envelope he wrote “in case of death or disappearance, please open.” he supposed if he was going to die, he should get his affairs in order. 

It wouldn't be a will as such, he knew one needed witnesses for that. This would be more of a rough guide of what to do with his personal effects and possessions once he was gone. Which he hoped would be soon. 

He didn't have much but he wanted to share it to those who had helped him at some point, even if they did end up just pawning it for a bit of extra cash. He wrote down his first item,

Books. He had a fair few books in his room, being an avid reader at points in his life. His passion for reading had dissipated into nothing, as had all of his passions as of late. He decided to give back any books he had stolen from the library upstairs and to allow the servants to have a search through the rest and take whatever they liked. Any remaining should be donated to charity. He hoped Andy would take a few and continue with his reading. 

Pen. The scratching of his pen on the paper as he wrote this down reminded him that he would have to get rid of that too. he decided to give his pen to Andy, it was a cheap one, bought on a whim in York when Thomas realised how sick he was of little pots of ink, but he thought Andy would appreciate it anyway. He elected to give all his writing paraphernalia to Andy, save the paper on the envelope he was using now. 

Clothes. None of the other staff had a build quite like his so he elected to give the clothes to a charity. Hopefully someone would find use for them there. He had a few hats that he requested be given to any staff that would like them. He had seen Molesley eyeing up his brown one for some time now. 

Pocket watch. He moved onto one of his most prized possessions, a pocket watch made by him and his father, the last thing they made together before he booted Thomas out. He'd always felt like it was the one of the only things linking him back to his past, other than the few family photos he owned, but he'd get onto them next. He wrote that his gold watch was to be given to master George on his 18th birthday. Thomas doubted George would even remember him by then, but he had no one else to give it to. 

Family photos. He had two or three pictures of various family members in his room, despite the bad memories they brought back. His favourite was one of his mother on her wedding day, looking carefree and happy, long before Thomas and long before the illness that took her so cruelly from him. He decided to give the photos to Baxter, she still had occasional contact with the family that had long since cut him off, she could decide what to do with them.

Hygiene. The only items he had left were his pomade, some toiletries and his shaving kit. He doubted anyone would want that after what he planned to do with it. He asked that these items be disposed of, not knowing anyone or any charities that would need half used toiletries. 

Engraved lighter. He had bought the steel lighter decades ago and it had served him well. He couldn't think of anyone in the house that smoked or would find use for it so he simply wrote "undecided".

Money. After the conversion therapy mishap, he didn't have much money. He had about ten pounds of savings to his name, often spending his wages on bus fares to hopeless job interviews and an increasing amount of cigarettes. He had no idea who would want or even need his money. He wrote simply; get yourself a treat. He had no idea who would be reading this or how legally binding that actually was, but he hoped he'd be able to buy one last bottle of pop for his colleagues. 

He looked down at the list. All his life compressed into a small list of possessions. Thomas would be humbled if he wasn't already at rock bottom. He rested his head in his hands, hit by a sudden wave of fatigue as a tear rolled out his weary eyes. He signed and folded the list, slipping it into the envelope and putting it in his draw. He planned to take it out and place it on his clean desk just before he did the deed. 

He walked over to his bed and fell onto it. He shut his eyes and drifted into a restless slumber, fully clothed and on top of the sheets. He loathed what he had become. 

At least it would be over soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this really isnt like my other fics, but i hope yall enjoyed it anyway. i might add an extra chapter to this or just make another new work or something. thank you for reading <3
> 
> (and im sorry)


	2. Chapter 2

Thomas lay in bed, having woken a few hours earlier than usual, like a child on the morning of an exciting trip. Except this time the trip was to his next life.

So today was the day. The day to end all days. Quite literally. Thomas had stared at the ceiling for hours, reminiscing any good times he'd had. There weren't many but he realised this would be his last time to think of them so it would be nice to remind himself.

He remembered his early childhood, while his mother was still around. She had kept him so safe and sheltered, shielded him from his father. He couldn't remember much of her, only her warm embrace around his tiny body, her hand gripping his as they walked through the busy city, her gentle kisses on his forehead as he fell asleep.

His thoughts drifted to his father, a tall dark haired man with an ever present angry look on his face. He remembered the way he had treated him after his Mum's death, coming home drunk each night and taking his anger and grief out on Thomas's fragile body. He tried not to think of those nights.

After his mum died, there wasn't much happiness in his life. Until he met Phillip. Oh, how lucky he was, a man like him, finally! And a duke nonetheless. He was ready to make a life for himself, a new life away from these intolerable people, this intolerable place. He was going to america! But, as with every other good thing in his life, it ended with pain and anguish. 

Then there was Edward. He was a nice reprieve from the pain and suffering he saw on a daily basis but, of course, he too left Thomas just as he got his hopes up. In some ways he was thankful for Edwards's demise, his swift death giving Thomas the idea for his. 

His friendship with Jimmy got off to a rocky start, what with the whole kiss debacle and the months of subtle bullying that followed. But eventually, they came to an understanding and became friends. It was so nice to have someone who knew what he was but liked him all the same. Even if he didn't like Thomas the same way Thomas liked Jimmy, it was refreshing to have someone, anyone who cared for him. 

But then Jimmy left too. And all the happiness seemed to leave with him. Then came the conversion therapy which left him weakened, both physically and mentally, and took away any hope he had for a happy future. 

He would always be a sinner, the same way that he would always be a bitter, mean man who looked so much like his father his reflection scared him. Everyday he felt himself becoming more and more like the man he loathed, sad and old and detestable. 

He was snapped out of thoughts as the scullery maid started knocking on the bedroom doors, calling the time. Six o'clock. Time to get up. He rubbed his eyes wearily as he sat up in bed. At least this would be the last time he'd have to do any of this. He put on his livery quickly, wanting to get to the bathroom and shave before anyone else. 

He picked up his shaving kit and walked down the corridor, feeling numb, as he did most days. He shaved slowly, wanting to look perfect in his casket. He felt the sharp edge of the razor slide of his face smoothly, shuddering at the thought of it slicing through his pale skin like butter. But it had to be done. 

He cleaned his razor meretriciously before putting it back in the box with all his other shaving paraphernalia. He looked at who he had become in the mirror briefly, before having to look away. He took his box back to his room before taking the letter and putting it in the centre of his freshly made bed. 

He made his way downstairs in a daze, people milled about him but he hardly had the energy to scold a stupid hallboy or berate a clumsy housemaid. He hardly had the energy to do anything but sit in his chair, only half listening to Carson's rambling about the day ahead. The day Thomas would never experience.

He had the morning off and had decided he would do the deed in the bath. That way any trace of him could be removed with a quick pull of the plug. It would be gone quickly, quicker than any other way he could think of. 

Everyone else got up and left to start their work, leaving Thomas and Molesley alone at the servants table. Thomas looked peered at him as he lit his last ever cigarette, the other man bustling with papers at his seat.

“Off to the school today?” said Thomas, his voice flat from misuse and void of emotion. Molesley looked up at Thomas, his eyes almost suspicious.

“Yes, erm I am actually Mr Barrow!” he said before he could help himself, his excitement getting the better of him. Thomas almost smiled at his glee. It was nice to see people's dreams coming true, he was resigned to the fact his never would.

“Well I hope you make more of your life than I ever did of mine.” said Thomas, pushing his chair back and leaving the servants hall, unable to take it any longer. He walked up to his room to retrieve his shaving kit, keeping his eyes firmly on the floor, holding back any tears that threatened to brim in them. 

He turned the corner and stopped dead in his tracks, staring at Miss Baxter and Anna. he suddenly felt as if he should say something, anything. But instead he kept his mouth shut and stood there, staring. 

“Are you alright Mr Barrow?” asked Anna, amused by his strange behaviour. 

SAY SOMETHING his brain screamed at him, desperately trying to save himself. “Of course,” he said. “Why wouldn't I be?” (Help me, please god help me.) 

But Anna couldn't read minds and just hummed in response, walking straight past him. He continued onwards to his room slowly, careful not to give anything away as he felt Baxter's eyes burning into his back. He turned the handle and walked in, surveying his room.

Everything was neat and tidy and in its place. He picked up his shaving kit and hid it under his towel, placing the will on his desk before closing his bedroom door behind him and making his way to the bathroom. He met Andy on his way and the younger man looked at his towel and back to him.

“Off for a bath?” he remarked, envious that the underbutler had time in the morning for such luxuries. Thomas found himself only able to nod in response before scarpering into the bathroom and locking the door behind him. 

He turned on the water and stripped off his jacket and waistcoat, hanging them over the back of the chair there. Then he moved to his shirt, unbuttoning it slowly and folding it before placing it on the seat of the chair. He had decided to keep his trousers and undershirt on. He didn't want anyone stumbling across his naked body, bleeding out in the bath. By then the tub was half full and he turned off the water. 

He picked up his razor and climbed in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am relieved that I'd left my room tidy  
> They'll think of me kindly  
> When they come for my things
> 
> Last Words of a Shooting Star - Mitski


	3. Chapter 3

Thomas felt a bit stupid, sitting in the bath, clothes still on. But it was necessary. He couldn't bare the thought of some hapless hallboy dragging his naked body around for everyone to see. So clothed it was.

Thomas sunk lower into the bath, his shirt sticking to his midriff. He picked up the razor and held it in his hand, the weight quite comforting. He supposed he should feel something, anything, at such a momentous event in his life. Maybe he should cry, maybe he should laugh, maybe he should reminisce about times gone by. But he did nothing. He felt so tired and numb that even a coherent thought was beyond him. All he could think was “do it.”

So he did.

He moved the razor to his right wrist first, knowing his left wouldn't have enough stamina to cut the right once it had been slashed. He pressed the blade into his skin, his eyes squeezing shut as he swiped it quickly across his wrist, a gasp escaping him. 

He opened his eyes and looked down at his burning wrist, blood already starting to rush from the wound he had made. He quickly moved the blade to his bloodied hand, knowing he wouldn't have long until he lost use of it.

He squeezed his eyes shut again as he pressed and pulled it over his other wrist, his jaw clenching. The razor dropped onto his chest, rolling off as he took in big gulps of breath, the pain overwhelming him. He knew it would hurt, he relied upon it hurting but dear god, he didn't know it would hurt this much.

He felt himself slide further and further into the bath as he grew weaker, blood draining from his excruciating gashes. He was always told your life would flash before your eyes as you died but all Thomas saw was darkness. The darkness enveloped him, smothering him until he could hardly take a breath.

He felt himself drift away into the darkness. 

He was at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pretty short chapter today guys but i didnt want to draw this out too much.
> 
> thank you for all the kudos <3


	4. Chapter 4

Thomas was dragged back from the darkness by voices. They sounded miles away, just whispers. Then he felt a harsh tug at his wrist, one of the unknown figures grabbing it. He tried to cry out in pain at the movement but found he couldn't make a noise. His chest rose and fell slowly, each breath a struggle as he tried to listen to what they were saying. 

He drifted away again as the person started wrapping something tightly around his wrist, soft material digging into his skin. He drifted back after what felt like years, a figure now patting his face with what he assumed was a towel. They muttered gently to him, their soft voice soothing him, even if he couldn't make out what they were saying. 

He tried to open his eyes, tried to see who had thwarted his plan but felt he could not do that either. He was stuck in limbo, half dead half alive, unable to do anything but wait. Purgatory. 

There were footsteps in the distance and more voices started joining in. They talked for a moment, the first figure had now stopped their gentle touches. Suddenly there were hands under his arms, lifting him up and out of the bathtub. His wrists swung uncomfortably, each knock against the bathtub causing even more pain to course through his weak body. 

He felt them shuffle away with him in their arms before he lost all sense again, drifting back into darkness. He came back again as they undressed him, slowly peeling off his wet and bloodsoaked underclothes with warm hands. He tried to say something, anything, but his mouth felt sealed shut as they steadily redressed him in warm dry clothes. 

He had started to listen more intently to the voices that surrounded him, picking up the occasional word, although they didn't make much sense to him. He had started to recognise some of them too. He knew that Mrs Hughes was there and Miss Baxter kept stroking him, trying to calm herself by whispering assurances into his ear. 

He heard two more people join as his door opened, but one of them left pretty quickly. The other moved and sat on his bed, leaning over to talk to him. He heard them calling to him but he wasn't sure what they were saying. 

“Thomas… can… stitch…” a few words broke through and Thomas recognised the voice of Dr Clarkson. He tried to respond but all he could let out was a weak groan, unable to string together a sentence in his head, let alone aloud. The doctor seemed pleased that he was able to respond at all, his muddled words taking a much happier tone. 

Suddenly there was a sharp prick at his wrist. So that was what he meant by stitch. Thomas felt himself drifting away again as the doctor continued stitching his wrists but tried to keep some level of consciousness, even if it was very low. Dr Clarkson stood up, getting off the bed and patting Thomas's leg. Thomas heard him leave before he gave into the drowsiness. 

~~~

The next time Thomas woke he felt stronger, much stronger. But he also felt the pain, oh god, the pain. He felt it radiate hardly through his body, penetrating deep in his bones. He moaned as he came around, unable to keep quiet as his wrists burned. 

There was a flurry of activity next to him. “Thomas…” came the meek voice of Miss Baxter. “Thomas, are you awake?”

He opened his eyes slowly, his dark room coming into focus. I must have been asleep for ages, he thought, turning his head slowly to face Baxter. She grinned at him, tears brimming in her eyes as she gently held his hand, careful not to jostle it. 

“Oh Thomas…” she said, her voice quiet and choked. “I wasn't sure you'd make it… you were gone for so long, I thought I'd lost you.” He tried to respond but his throat was so dry he couldn't do anything but grunt in response. He wanted to make it known that he was not at all happy with being saved. 

“Oh! You must be thirsty.” she exclaimed, noticing his tongue darting out to lick his dry lips. “I'll go to fetch some water and let Mrs Hughes know you've woken up.” She declared, a grin still plastered on her face as she got up and left him. He closed his eyes again, willing himself not to fall asleep for just five minutes. 

Baxter and Mrs Hughes returned, water in hand. Thomas kept his eyes shut, not wanting to see the looks of sickly pity that would be staring down at him. He felt Mrs Hughes gently tap his shoulder. 

“Thomas… Do you want some water?” she asked softly, obviously unsure if he was awake. He opened his eyes and nodded slowly, suddenly feeling dizzy from the movement. He shut his eyes again before he passed out. The older woman pressed a glass of water to his chapped lips, gently tilting it to allow the liquid into his mouth. Never before had water tasted so good. He swallowed slowly, feeling it soothe his throat as it ran down. He took another big gulp, and another before Mrs Hughes pulled the glass away from his mouth.

“Not too much at once,” she said when he looked up at her. “Doctor Clarkson said it might make you sick if you drank too fast.” he stared up at her, his grey eyes boring into her brown. He tried to convey how angry he was at all of them for saving him, for bringing him back to a world he so desperately wanted to leave but the message didn't seem to get across, Mrs Hughes looking down at him with a soft smile on her pitying face. 

Baxter lay her hand upon his before talking. “We're all glad you're okay Thomas… even if you aren't.” at least she got the message, he thought before he felt the urgent need to sleep again. He shut his eyes slowly before drifting off to sleep, Baxter's hand grasping his the whole time.


	5. Chapter 5

Shame. The feeling overwhelmed Thomas as he opened his eyes again, the sun shining in through the window of the sick room. He felt so ashamed, ashamed he had done this to himself, ashamed he had been found, ashamed he hadn’t succeeded. He sighed. He felt just as hopeless as before, in fact, he felt even more hopeless. 

Carson didn't want an evil, homosexual underbutler. Why would he want an evil, homosexual, suicidal underbutler. He wished he had died, that Baxter and Andy had never found him. Curse them for keeping him here. He didn't belong here. 

Baxter noticed his open and tired eyes, smiling in thanks that he had woken up again. Thomas grimaced back at her. Andy sat on the other side of him, drinking a cup of tea with shaking hands. Thomas glared at him before letting his eyes rest on the foot of his bed, lest anger overcome him.

“How are you feeling Thomas? Do you want some painkillers?” Asked Baxter, her voice sweet and patronising. When Thomas answered, his voice was little more than a low rasp, his throat painfully dry. 

“You should have let me die.” He whispered. His voice was flat, as if he was commenting on the weather as opposed to his own mortality. He closed his eyes again, taking deep breaths as he shook with anger. 

Beside him, Andy and Baxter gasped. He hoped he had upset them. They deserved it. What right did they have to choose whether he lives or dies. How dare they play God. He despised them.

“Why would you say that Thomas I-” Said Miss Baxter, her voice breaking off into a sob. Maybe he was a little too harsh. But the sentiment remained. 

They knew he didn't want to be here, didn't want to be alive, why did it upset them when he vocalised his will. He had done it many times before, saying he had no future, that he couldn't see himself having a life. Did they not realise what he was saying? 

Andy moved to the other side of the bed, comforting Baxter with small reassurances that didn't mean a thing. Thomas meant what he said, meant what he did. Was he not allowed free will anymore? 

He moved to get the glass of water off of his bedside table, letting out a yelp of pain as his wrist pulled. He bit his lip to stop himself from screaming as his whole arm seemed to burn, pain coursing through his body. A tear slipped from his eye as he lowered his hand back down to the bed, his dry mouth forgotten.

“Oh Thomas…” Said Baxter as Andy picked up the glass of water to Thomas’s mouth letting him have a few gulps before pulling it away. Thomas opened his mouth to berate Baxter for daring to pity him when there was a knock on the door. Carson strode in, keeping his eyes firmly averted from where Thomas lay in bed.

“I was wondering if I could speak to Mr Barrow. Alone.” He said, still not looking at the injured man. The other two nodded quickly and left the room. Thomas almost called for them to come back, not wanting to be left alone with Carson.

Carson looked around the sick room, seemingly taking in the landscape as if he’d never seen it before. He still refused to look at Thomas. 

“What is it, Mr Carson?” Asked Thomas, feeling fatigue start to overcome him. He hoped this would be fast, lest he fall asleep mid conversation. Carson's eyes finally rested upon Thomas as the older man stood in the middle of the room, hands clasped behind his back.

“I’ve spoken to his lordship, and he is graciously allowing you to stay on at Downton for a short while longer.” He said, obviously uncomfortable to be in the room with the product of his bullying. 

“Please give him my thanks.” Said Thomas, not even trying to pretend he was particularly thankful. He didn't want to stay, he wanted to die. Why was it so hard for them to all understand? 

“I must stress, Mr Barrow, that it is not a long term fixture. This is just until you recover and find another job. Which I encourage you to start looking for as soon as possible.” 

Ahh… There was the catch. Thomas knew Carson wouldn't willingly let him stay at Downton any longer than necessary, especially after his little suicide attempt. He had been forced into it by his lordship. Thomas twitched the sides of his mouth in a vague imitation of a smile. Another wave of fatigue washed over him as his eyes started to flutter shut. 

“Of course, Mr Carson.” He said, not having the energy to send a scathing retort his boss’s way. He shut his eyes fully, feeling sleep begin to take over. After a few moments he heard the door click shut as Carson left and he fully gave in to the need to rest, drifting off into a restless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit of a short chapter today, sorry guys. 
> 
> hope you enjoyed anyway, thank you for almost 50 kudos <3


	6. Chapter 6

The rest of the day went by slowly for Thomas. People visited him throughout, but he usually pretended to be asleep to avoid them or sat in stony silence, refusing to interact whatsoever. Baxter and Andy visited regularly, each of them trying to make conversation with him, which he pointedly ignored. He hadn’t yet forgiven them for what they had done, trapping him in this life he hated.

Thomas vowed that as soon as he could walk again, he’d get his razor and finish the job. 

At around half past three in the afternoon, Mrs Hughes entered the sick room. She hadn't knocked so Thomas barely had a second to shut his eyes and feign sleep, hoping she hadn't noticed. But, alas, she had.

“I know you’re not asleep Thomas, I saw you.” She muttered fondly. He peeked open one eye, seeing if she had anything interesting to offer before he pretended to be asleep once again. In her hands she carried the first aid box and a fresh cup of water. She placed them both on his bedside table.

“I’m here to change your bandages.” She said in an almost steady voice, trying to pretend seeing what lay beneath didn't scare her. Thomas’s bandages felt sticky and stiff with dried blood, scratching coarsely on the tender wounds under them. Thomas simply hummed in response. 

She reached softly for his hand, wrapping her warm fingers around his icy, before turning it so that the palm of his hand faced him. Thomas inhaled sharply as wrist was jostled, sending white hot pain down his arm. He took deep shaking breaths, trying not to yelp as Mrs Hughes started to peel off the bandages, tutting in sympathy.

The layers of cloth stuck to each other uncomfortably and it felt as if Thomas's skin was being peeled off with each gentle tug. Tears started to brim in his eyes as Mrs Hughes got down to the last layer, the one that was stuck to his actual skin. Mrs Hughes started by tugging at it gently. This did nothing, it merely pulled at Thomas’s broken skin. 

“I’m sorry about this, Thomas.” She whispered and before Thomas had time to react, she violently ripped it from his skin in one swift motion. Thomas yelped at this, only just holding back a full blown scream. His lip quivered as he struggled to control his breathing, Mrs Hughes rubbing gentle circles on his upper arm. Too scared to look down at his own wounds, he kept his eyes fixed on Mrs Hughes.

She opened the first aid box and removed some fresh bandages, some tissues and a small bottle of iodine. She quickly disposed of the bloodied bandages in the bin before wetting the tissues with a small amount of iodine.

“This may sting a wee bit, Thomas.” She warned before gently applying the liquid soaked paper to his lacerations. Dear god, it did sting. Thomas felt as if his arm had been sliced open anew, his chest rising and falling rapidly in an attempt to hold back the tears. Eventually she pulled it off of his skin and threw it in the bin before wetting another tissue, dabbing gently around the wound. He presumed she was trying to get rid of the dried blood that stuck to the skin around it.

Eventually, she flung that in the bin too, picking up the new bandages and holding his arm up gently. She wrapped the soft cotton under and around his wrist, not too loose, not too tight. It felt nice and warm against his cut, not damp and stiff like the old bandages. Soon after, she tucked the ends of the cotton in and lowered his hand to the bed, letting it rest there once again.

Thomas let out a sigh of relief. One down, one to go. Hopefully the next one would be easier.

Mrs Hughes moved to the other side of the bed, sitting down next to him and beginning to peel off the bandage. This side came off much easier than the last side, the blood soaked gauze falling off his wrist easily. Compelled by a sudden bout of bravery, Thomas looked down at his uncovered wrist.

The gash was large and deep, spanning the whole way across his wrist. Big, black stitches looked to be the only things holding the skin together. His wrist was reddish brown with dried blood, making his injury look much worse than it was. He could vaguely feel his pulse in the tender wound as Mrs Hughes prepared the iodine soaked tissue.

Try as he might, Thomas could not hold back the howl that escaped him as the housekeeper pressed the tissue to his cut. Tears slipped from his eyes as he struggled to keep himself from pulling his arm back, knowing he couldn’t if he tried. He took deep breaths as Mrs Hughes continued to hold the iodine against him, his whole arm feeling as if it was on fire. 

There was a quick knock at the door.

“Is everything okay?” Asked Baxter as she poked her head round the door, obviously having heard Thomas’s scream. How embarrassing. 

“I'm just changing Thomas’s bandages.” Muttered Mrs Hughes as she finally removed the tissue from his wound. He let out a shuddering sigh, though the burning sensation still remained. 

“Oh. Yes. Do you need anything?” She said, always eager to help. 

“No thank you, Miss Baxter.” Said Mrs Hughes, wiping up all the dried blood from Thomas’s wrist. 

“Actually-” Thomas started. His voice was hoarse and broken from disuse so he stopped briefly to clear his throat. “Could you bring me my book? It's on my bedside table.”

Baxter beamed at him. This was the first time she had heard him talk about something other than his will to die. Maybe there was hope after all. 

“Of course, Thomas.” She said, her voice brighter than he had ever heard it. She shut the door behind herself as Mrs Hughes finished wrapping the bandage. She lay his hand back down on the bed sheets, packing away her medical supplies. At least it was all over now. The burning still persisted, as did the bone deep ache, but he supposed that was all to be expected.

“All done.” Said Mrs Hughes, gently patting his upper arm. “How’re you feeling?” 

“It hurts.” Said Thomas quietly. Understatement of the century. Every single move he made jostled the cuts on his wrist, tugging painfully at the stitches. He wondered if it would ever properly heal, or if he'd be stuck with tender wrists for the rest of his life. Well, seeing as he planned to kill himself as soon as he could walk again, they would never have the time to properly heal. 

“Hmm… We should get someone to shave you soon. You're looking a bit scruffy.” She said, ruffling his black hair. Thomas almost smiled at that. Trust Mrs Hughes to call him ‘scruffy’ the day after he had tried to kill himself. He would miss her. 

The door flew open, effectively derailing off his train of thought. Miss Baxter stood in the doorway, her eyes filled with tears and her bottom lip trembling. Mrs Hughes spoke up first.

“What's the matter, Miss Baxter?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the cliffhanger but thank you for all the kudos <3 
> 
> hope you guys enjoyed this!


End file.
